


His Part to Play

by Breakinglight11



Series: Forever Captain [4]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childbirth, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Internal Conflict, Introspection, Marriage Proposal, Metaphysics, Multiverse, Nazis, One True Pairing, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon, Post-Endgame, Pregnancy, Reunions, Secret Identity, Sewing, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Steggy - Freeform, Timeline Shenanigans, True Love, Waiting, Waiting Rooms, Weddings, self-care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakinglight11/pseuds/Breakinglight11
Summary: Steve Rogers has retired to the 1940s to build a new life with Peggy. In leaving behind the mantle of Captain America, at last he’s got a measure of peace. Still, Steve will never stop feeling the responsibility to step up as a hero-- except he's not sure how much power his actions have at this point in the timeline. Somehow he must reconcile his new life and identity with the responsibility and burden of being a hero out of time.
Relationships: Ana Jarvis/Edwin Jarvis, Edwin Jarvis & Steve Rogers, Howard Stark & Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Daniel Sousa, Steve Rogers & Howard Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Forever Captain [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1355254
Comments: 24
Kudos: 120
Collections: OTP My Best Girl, Steggy





	1. Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring what Steve's new life post-retirement in the 1940's will be like. He'll never be Captain America again-- but he'll also never be able to refuse when the call to be of service comes upon him.
> 
> This will take a while to settle in. I'm taking this one very slow. Tags to be added as the story progresses.

For Steve’s first days in 1947, there was nothing in the world but Peggy.

He hadn’t meant to throw himself in so quickly. He had been dreaming of her, yes, returning to this time in hopes of being with her again. But enough time had gone by to make him measure that hope. To her it was a full two years after he’d gone down with the HYDRA ship. Long enough that the search for him would have tapered off— and that if Peggy no longer wanted to be with him, the choice would be her own. He was a changed man from the one she remembered, and he knew from his own timeline that she’d led a full life without him. Perhaps the new Steve wouldn’t be what she wanted; perhaps she was content with the path she was already on.

But then she’d _run_ to him. Once she was certain who he was, she ran and clung to him as if she could hold him against ever losing him again. And the touch and taste of her, her lips warm and wanting against his, drove out all reason and all fear.

Even in his wildest hopes, he’d meant to take things slow. They had to get to know one another again, to be certain it was all they remembered. But just seeing her again, to speak and touch and simply _be_ with her in a way he thought he’d lost, was enough to break down the dam of his reserve. And once that dam was broken, longing a decade in the build burst forth, and they fell together into Peggy’s narrow bed, and spent days lost in one another’s arms.

They had to be careful, of course. Men were not allowed as visitors in her boarding house— certainly not like this —and they didn’t want anyone to hear them through the walls. But they clung to one another as if drowning, drank each other in as if dying of thirst. Her body was at once soft and strong, full for the holding yet so small against his. He might have been tentative, overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of it, that he was finally there with her. But Peggy took unrelenting charge of him, till it was all he could do to follow her lead and keep up.

There was so much lost time to make up for. There had been only the once before for them, in the French countryside out on maneuvers during the war. It had been quick and artless, in a rare stolen moment away from the eyes of the others, when the strain saw all their reserve break down. He been as unsure of himself as deeply as he craved it, afraid even then that it was too far. He had not even dared then tell her that he loved her. But it had been his first time, and it had been with Peggy.

He’d clung to the memory of it, even when it might have been wiser to try and lock it away. By now it was like something of a dream, distant uncertain as if it never really happened. And when they met again in the twenty-first century, they hardly touched at all; it had seemed improper, somehow, and she had been so fragile he’d almost been afraid. But now, now there were no barriers between them, not time, not space, not age, not propriety, so that when he reached for her she was so resolutely _there_ , warm and real beneath his fingertips, that it he shivered in the wake of it. He could not have her enough.

They talked too, of course, in the between times, hours upon hours they could hardly keep track of. They lay together twined in each other’s arms, and all the things they could not say in their years of separation poured out. Steve told her his story, everything, from how he’d survived the ice to his discovery sixty-six years later, to serving with the Avengers through the Chitauri, Ultron, a breaking of the team, to their reunification in the shadow of Thanos, and everything they’d done for the fate of the world. It was so much, so crazy, he could hardly keep it all straight. But he spared no detail, no matter how insane. Infinity gems, time travel, multiverses, the balance of reality, everything. If he wanted Peggy to know him, it would have to be the man he was now, and she would have to know what had made him that man.

She listened intently, mostly in silence. At first he thought he’d overwhelmed her, with the sheer enormity of the story he had to tell. But in truth she was torn, very naturally between an intense fascination of the strangeness of it, and a trepidation of knowing too much about things most would never have a chance to know. Because it was unavoidable, in that telling her his story, he told her about the world to come.

Not with much rhyme or reason, and certainly not everything— how could he? —but when the subject arose, he had to be honest— how could he not? For Peggy only two years had gone by, but for Steve there had been thirteen and nearly a century of history; that time had changed him, more even than the course of the war. So there were things that had to come up. The Cold War. The polio vaccine. The civil rights movement. The Internet. How much changed, and how much stayed the same.

“Still? Also those decades later?” she said, surprised at, in some ways, just how little progress had been made. “I suppose people truly do never learn.”

But to Steve that didn’t seem quite fair. “They’re… kinder, in a lot of ways,” he mused. “They know more, and they care. About the world, about other people. Even those who aren’t like them. But they’re also more tired. Everything is faster, and louder, and busier, and honestly, to me the demands seemed… higher. Of everything, all the time. And lots of them get worn down by it, to the point of sickness— body, mind, and soul. In a way, they don’t have it any easier.”

He wanted her to know him again, but it was more than just that. He had to explain to her how he’d come back, only two years later to her reckoning but with a decade-plus more wear. In truth this was the part that he was most afraid of. Not out of fear that she wouldn’t believe him, for all that the whole journey was insane. But what if, upon hearing his reasons for coming back— for laying down the mantle of Captain America —she judged him a coward, or a deserter? The thought alone was enough to twist up his guts. But he’d resolved to tell her everything, no matter how difficult, and if this was to be his life, she had to understand it.

So he told her how weary he was, how the role had emptied him out, how he wanted to live a life beyond it. He struggled to meet her gaze as he spoke, bracing himself for her reaction. She, after all, was still out there, still fighting. But Peggy had no recriminations for him, no judgment. She only brushed back his tousled hair from his forehead with gentle strokes of her fingers.

“You don’t fault me for it?” he asked, daring to glance back up.

“You already died once for us, Steve. That’s enough for any one lifetime.” Her painted nails skated across his scalp. “And… this is where you want to be now? Here again, with me?”

“If you’ll have me.” He paused, uncertain of how to proceed, but knew he had to try. “I know I’ve come out of nowhere,” he told her at last. “I know you’ve moved on with your life. I understand if… there isn’t a place for me.”

She eyed him. “Do you mean, is there someone else?”

He swallowed. He gathered there was a man for her around this time, possibly _the_ man, the one she’d made a life with. “You know… you were married. In the other timeline.”

She lifted her head a little, brows raised.

He pressed on, at a loss what else to do. “You were together a long time. You had children. You made a life.”

He could see her grow pensive at the mention of children. “Did you know them?”

“Yes. A little.” He paused. “I could tell you about them, if you wanted.”

She was quiet a long time, long enough that Steve began casting about for something else to say. But before he could she pressed in close, twining her arms around him. “Steve. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s no sense dwelling on what could have been. I have carried on— but I never wanted to do it without you. We’ve all got a road not taken. I thought you’d be mine… but perhaps, for this version of me, that’s Daniel.” She sighed, breath warm against his neck. “Daniel’s a good man. But he’s not you.”

The mention of the name confirmed it. The words, the way she said them, transported him back to 2012, when he’d first gathered his courage to visit her in the new century. When she’d shown him pictures of her family and explained the seventy years of life she’d built without him. _“Daniel was a good man, and I loved him, but… he wasn’t you, Steve. Nobody could ever be you.”_

Still. Steve had to be certain. “I can tell you, you know. What your life was like. I can tell you anything you want.”

She regarded him. “Why?”

He took her hand. “So you can be sure.”

Peggy smiled, twining her fingers in his. “Nothing is sure, Steve. But this…” She placed his hand against her and slid it to trace the curves. “This is worth the chance.”

Steve’s fingers closed around her and pulled her to him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The memory Steve has of Peggy saying "He wasn't you," is a reference to my previous fic and the first in the Forever Captain series, "Have That Dance," to be found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046472


	2. Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets to building his life in earnest.

Of course eventually real life intervened. Peggy had managed to call out of work on some excuse or other for nearly a full week, allowing them seven glorious days to enjoy one another undisturbed. But eventually she had to get back to it, and he had to emerge from the haze back to the real world. Now, with some time to himself, it was time to start building his life here.

For a few days more, he permitted himself to remain adrift with his own thoughts. But, military man that he was, it wasn’t long before he started putting things in order. He took a small apartment in a building nearby, an inexpensive place populated by students, artists, and new immigrants to New York. Fortunately, his ready supply of cash preventing too much inquiry into his identity. Anonymity was vital now, even more so than it had been in his time on the run.

He put together a routine, keeping things simple at first, beginning with some order to his days. He would rise early, as was his preference, and go out for a run. Early risers were more common than joggers here, so he would avoid pushing himself hard enough to lap on anyone’s left. His apartment had a shower, if not much in the way of water pressure, but he found himself taking long baths instead, navigating a tub too narrow for his frame while the hottest water he could stand soaked out the lingering ache. Then he would spend the rest of the day reacquainting himself with the New York City he once knew.

He wandered with his old Dodgers cap pulled low, in no rush, often with no destination in particular, through the bodegas, the diners, the ball fields, the parks. He saw movies in the middle of the day, hung out in the bleachers as baseball teams practiced, fed ducks from a park bench by a pond. He would lurk for long hours in the public library, taking in all the books he’d always meant to read but had never gotten around to. He didn’t need much sleep under normal circumstances, but he slept now every night from ten to six like clockwork, until the bone-deep weariness finally started to ease.

Once he felt together again, he set his mind to doing something with himself. Money was not a pressing issue, thanks to the resources he’d been supplied with before he’d left. But now that he felt stronger, he felt like he should make somewhat more use of himself than providing an early morning spectacle for the shopkeepers and ladies sweeping their front steps as he went by jogging.

He began, naturally enough, with Peggy. Chores did not demand much of him in his own small apartment, so he began to take care of things for her. She had far more on her plate right now than he did, and it only seemed right that he make himself useful. He could press a shirt collar since his army days, mend buttons in a pinch, and pitch in any way that called for a little elbow grease. Men were of course still not welcome as guests in her boarding house, so he’d simply gotten in the habit of entering and leaving the way he had the very first time— by scaling the wall and climbing in through the window. She would come home in the evenings to find him washing the dishes in the sink and hanging thing up to dry with a kettle whistling on the stovetop for tea.

“My word,” she said, as he’d handed her a steaming mug in the small den he had waiting warm and clean for her. “I could get used to this.”

She nestled into the sofa, cradling the tea and tucking her feet up beneath her. “If only you could cook, you might be worth keeping.”

She smiled at him then, so adorably that he resolved then and there he would make that happen.

Easier said than done, however. Once he’d joked to Natasha about just how bad he was at it; not something he’d want to inflict on Peggy. But with so much time on his hands now to learn, he decided there was no time like all the time in the world.

His first thought had been to find a book, though compared to what the twenty-first century had to offer he was skeptical. Even if _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_ hadn’t sounded so intimidatingly complicated, it still nearly a decade off. Of course, it hadn’t been the fancy cooking that really endured into the twenty-first century; it was the peasant stuff, handed down by _nonnas_ and _abuelas_ until some rich asshole decided to put it in a restaurant and acted like he discovered it.

It was then that he realized he lived in a whole building of those very same _nonnas_ and _abuelas_. He wondered if any of them had any stubborn pickle jars around.

So Steve made a point of introducing himself to a few likely-looking candidates to be his teachers. It so happened they were delighted to make friends with a handsome young man with an interest in their culinary prowess. In exchange for carrying groceries and repairs around the house, they taught him secrets brought with them from their villages in Sicily and Oaxaca. From Mama Cantelmi he learned to brown the meat and simmer the sauce, while Senora Reyes taught him about oil and seasoning and salt. Bread baking he learned from a _bubbeh_ , Esther Tannenbaum in 4F, who had him break down an old armoire to kindling and demonstrated her six-stranded braiding technique for her egg-glazed challah loaf. Between stories of their lives, their families, the countries they and theirs came from, they patted Steve’s cheeks and helped him make the perfect plan.

In a few weeks’ time, he felt confident to put things into action. Peggy came in that night, not to the sound of a whistling teakettle, but to the soft hissing of pots on to simmer, and the clicking of china as he set the table.

He glanced up, then dropped his head, grinning sheepishly. “Damn! I’d hoped to be ready when you got here.” It had just occurred to him with some annoyance that he hadn’t figured out anything for dessert.

She tossed her hat and coat aside in the den, stripping off her gloves as she came through to the kitchen. “What’s all this?” she asked, taking in the cloth napkins and the cornflowers he’d set in a milk bottle in the center of the table.

He smiled, drawing out a chair for her. “Give me a minute.” He laid the last few pieces of service ware on the table, then carried the dishes over— a _scaloppin’_ , pounded thin and sautéed with fontina and sage, cilantro-lime cabbage shredded fine, and a basket of little buns, not braided but lovingly coiled into little knots by hand.

She shook her head over the spread, marveling. “How on earth did you manage all this?”

“I’ve been learning.” He popped the cork from a bottle of red— had to be red, Mrs. Cantelmi was firm —with a swift twist of his wrist. “Thought I might try and make myself useful to you.”

“You went to all this trouble for me?”

“Are you surprised?” Steve sat down across from her and filled up her glass. “It’s so you’ll keep me. How am I doing?”

If he hadn’t already been seated already, the look that came into her eyes then would have sent him to his knees. Half ready to throw himself across the table, he watched as she daintily she picked up her napkin and laid it across her lap.

“I’d show you,” she said. “Except it would be a shame for all this to go to waste.”

Suddenly Steve was no longer worried about dessert.


	3. Reaching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reveals himself to some select few people.

He took up other skills besides cooking; painting, woodworking, piano playing, learning from library books and neighbors in the community. Time seemed so open to him now, so full with possibility, that he found himself leaping into new things with unheard of relish. It was also around this point that he started drawing again. He’d never really stopped, not entirely anyway. When he’d first woken up in 2011, he sketched almost compulsively, in an effort to interpret all the newness in a manner that felt familiar and real. But in later years he had slowed, uninspired to do more than scrawl in the margins of notes taken in the war room. He’d hardly touched a pencil in the years following the snap. But now he felt inspired as he hadn’t in forever, making certain to have his pad on him at all times, to capture anything for which the mood struck him.

He drew everything that passed before his eyes, important and mundane— Jackie Robinson stealing a base, Mrs. Cantelmi as she gutted a fish, the orange tabby cat that sunned itself on the front stoop. Previously not much one for fantasy, now he drew straight from his own imagination too, from coiling dragons to mythological figures to spaceships navigating planets of his own design. He carried his notebook and pencils with him everywhere, to capture an interesting face or a window box of flowers, filling one after the other in a sudden creative flood. He could have drawn a portrait of Peggy every day of the week, breathless at the chance to observe her, just living her life alongside his every day. He felt free, free in a way he never had since he’d taken up the cowl and the shield.

For a time he was haunted by the fear of being recognized. There wasn’t much he could do about the unique figure he cut, and he tended to tower above most of any crowd. Still, he made some effort to at least draw less of people’s attention. He’d lived on the run long enough that aiming for _unremarkable_ was much less conspicuous than _disguised_. He had never been an ostentatious dresser, and there was always his trusty Dodgers cap. Eventually, when he went out, he took to wearing spectacles with plain glass lenses, and started parting his hair on the opposite side.

Peggy had laughed at him at this. “And who do you think you are?”

He grinned. “Worked well enough for him.”

“I suppose.” She trailed her fingers through his freshly pomaded hair. “If you’ve got to pretend you’re not Superman.”

They joked about it, but to him it was serious. If he was to truly leave Captain America behind, then he had to remain dead to the world at large. His image had been widely disseminated once, in films, on posters, on goddamn lunch boxes. He occasionally ran into a kid that had his trading cards shoved in a back pocket or clothes pinned to the spokes of a bike. But famous as his face was, it was not always in front of folks the way it could be in the days of the Internet. And more than that, the reality of him was obscured in the wake of all the mythologizing— from the hagiographic tone of his mentions in the newsreels, to the ridiculous radio program that turned his service into some kind of pulp adventure in between ads for sewing machines. That figure wasn’t a person, couldn’t be in the wake of all the symbol they needed him to be. Captain America didn’t burn the garlic or shave the shank too thin. Of course they did not attach that to the guy they knew only as Grant.

 _Grant_ ; it had slipped out on the fly, his middle name, the first time a stranger had asked him. Not the cleverest alias admittedly, but it was easy to remember, and he doubted there were many who knew that much about Captain America. There was only the occasional somebody who said he reminded them of someone, someone they couldn’t quite name.

Folks like Nick Johnstone, a fellow lingerer at the pondside park bench where Steve would often come to draw. He was a distinguished older black gentleman, retired now, but who had been a carpenter until age took the majority of his sight. It was he who taught Steve how to work wood and build furniture. Chatting in the park became coffees in nearby shops became Steve visiting at Nick’s downtown apartment, much of the utilitarian space given over to his small workshop of woodworking tools. He no longer built cabinets or large furniture, but kept his tools near to hand to carve small pieces or do repairs even in his retirement.

“Got to keep my hands busy,” he explained to Steve, still handling the planes and chisels with the skill of all his years. “Devil’s workshop, and all.”

As he did for his passel of grandmothers, nominally Steve traded errands and chores, but in reality he paid in conversation. Nick had led an interesting life, having traveled all over the United States, and had once had a large, far-flung extended family who were the source of no end of amusing anecdotes. Now he was alone, his wife Marlene having passed of stomach cancer about ten years back, and their son, Charlie, an infantryman who’d fallen in the countryside of Germany. Steve was a good listener, and Nick was happy to have someone to remember them to.

Nick guessed fairly quickly that he was a veteran himself, from the way he seemed to understand the life. It happened he’d even been some of the same places that Charlie had. Steve wondered briefly if he’d ever met the man; people always loved it when Captain America remembered them. He’d tried his best, but there’d been so many over the years of the war.

“I’m real proud of him. Dying a hero,” Nick mused, as he demonstrated the technique for mitering an edge. “But God almighty knows, I might have rather he’d run like a coward and stayed alive.”

Steve accepted the miter saw as he carefully passed it over. “I don’t blame you. I wish more of us could have been.”

He snorted, skeptical. But Steve had no judgment for him.

“Life’s hard enough. We’re here to do more than suffer.”

Nick chuffed, considering. “You really believe that?”

Steve lined up his cut in the box frame with care. “Trying to.”

It occurred to him this must have been what Frankenstein’s monster felt, in a novel he’d finally gotten around to reading in his hours in the public library. For a little while, he was permitted to be normal. He was shocked at how easy it was, without the weight of Captain America. He could be himself, and the world could simply take him for that man.

He revealed his true identity only once. He and Peggy discussed it, and after careful consideration they concluded it was the right thing. And so, once he had settled a bit, they went to go see Howard Stark.

Peggy had done him quite a few favors at this point, so she was able to get a hold of him on shorter notice than most. Apparently when she contacted him he was about to go to Washington, D.C. on some government contract or other. Steve thought it could wait, but Peggy insisted over Howard’s apparent protestations.

“What’s the point of a private plane if you’re a slave to travel schedules?” she told him. “For this, the Defense Secretary can wait.”

“The Defense Secretary, maybe,” Howard groused. “But the Defense Secretary’s secretary I had to book three weeks out, and she’s got a hell of a cancellation policy.” Steve wasn’t sure he could compete with that, but with Peggy’s assurances, Howard agreed to meet. He would be waiting for them at his guest apartments, a place where Peggy had stayed on maneuvers when she’d needed to lay low.

Steve couldn’t resist giving her a hard time over that. “Kept in secret by a man,” he teased. “If you’re not careful, people will think you were… what’s the word? Fondueing.”

Peggy laughed. “Is that more or less disgraceful than smuggling a man into my boarding house?”

“Definitely less,” he declared, nuzzling into her neck. “In that case, everything they’re thinking is true.”

The levity put him a bit more at ease. He was apprehensive of anything that might draw him back into his old life, for all that he might not have anything to fear from Howard. But it was more than that, because he wasn’t just revealing himself to his old comrade in arms. On Peggy’s urging, would also be revealing himself to Stark’s right-hand man and his wife, Edwin and Ana Jarvis.

He’d heard of Jarvis, of course, the Starks’ butler that Tony had grown up with and had enough affection for that he’d named the AI assistant he’d invented in his honor. Steve had been apprehensive about that, but Peggy felt it was something he should do. The Jarvises had been good to her, been there for her to rely on in a very difficult time, and had earned her confidence enough that she wanted them in on this part of her life. She wanted him to have good people like them in his life, just as she had.

“Besides,” she added. “You know that Howard can’t keep a secret without someone nannying him. Jarvis can ride herd on him before that horse leaves the barn.”

Peggy got them past the gate, led him through the grounds, took him into a sitting room, decorated with just a little too much of the elder Stark’s flair for the ostentatious. The man himself was in there pacing, griping to two other people, one a suited gentleman waiting at attention, the other a woman sitting primly on the sofa.

Howard turned, still grumbling. “Well, Agent Carter, what’s so damned important as to get bumped by Miss Hightower for another three months?”

Steve removed his glasses and his flat cap. “Hello, Howard.” He looked past his old friend to the butler and his wife standing just behind him. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. I’m Steve Rogers.”

For a moment no one made a sound, every eye in the room on Steve. Then Howard staggered close to him, gaping in a way he hadn’t since Steve’s transformation at Camp Lehigh. He reached up and laid his hands on Steve’s cheeks, as if to prove to himself he wasn’t imagining things.

“Jarvis,” he choked out at last. “Does Carter just have a type, or am I having a stroke?”

Howard’s man took a step forward, then abruptly stopped. When Steve’s eyes met his, Steve faltered. Jarvis had that look on him, that sort of awestruck cast that people got when they were seeing the super soldier, imagining the cowl and shield, instead of the man in front of them. But his wife, a tiny, russet bird of a woman impeccably dressed, strode right up, disentangled him from Howard, and took his hands in hers.

“Mr. Rogers,” she said, with just a hint of some European accent. “It is so nice to finally meet you.”

Relief flooded through him as he looked down into her sweetly open face. Her ease seemed to pull her husband out of his shock, and when Steve turned back to him, that distant awe was replaced by a genuine smile of welcome, eyes crinkling kindly at the edges.

“Steve,” Howard breathed, still rooted to the spot. “How?”

“It’s a long story,” he answered, then paused. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

Ana Jarvis did not miss a beat. “We would love to have you over to supper. You can tell us then.” She wove her arm through his. “Have you ever had Hungarian food?”


	4. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes connections with the people in his life-- some old friends, and some new. And comes to a decision about the connection that matters most.

Once Howard picked his jaw off the floor, of course he had a million questions. About what had happened to Steve, where he’d been, how he’d come to be there now. Steve told them, if not every detail, at least a version of the truth, enough to satisfy them. But he’d had to think long and hard of what was safe for him to say. Howard was interested in the mechanics of how the timeline worked, but Steve maintained he didn’t know enough to say. It was not completely false; even with his experiences, all he had was best guess. But he leaned on the notion that in the tangent dimension of his return, it was impossible to really know what consequences were to come.

Still, Howard was no fool. He realized immediately that Steve had seen at least some version of a future with him in it, and no matter what Steve said, it was clear curiosity was eating him alive.

“Why would you want to know everything that’s coming?” Steve said. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Howard was sheepish but couldn’t help himself. “Not even a hint?”

Steve grinned. “Doesn’t work that way, Stark. Can’t go getting your hopes up.”

Howard heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I liked you better when you were a boy scout. Being of service and all.”

“I could help you across the street, but I’m older than you now.”

He kept it light, but he was resolved. Peggy had been conflicted when he’d explained it, reluctant to commit to a lie. But he’d thought this carefully through. He couldn’t be certain just how much of history was in flux, but with all he knew from his original timeline, there were things he simply couldn’t tell Howard about. How could he? Howard was not married yet— he had not even met Maria —and of course Tony wasn’t even a glimmer in his eye. Would he exert undue influence about what was to come for him? Or would he crush the man with the burden of knowledge of things he could not change? He knew the hour and means of Howard’s violent death. Nobody needed the weight of that hanging over them.

He and Howard had never been exactly friends, though their close work during the war had bonded them. Now, however, he had come to genuinely appreciate the man’s company, and Howard seemed to feel the same for him. It seemed so, anyway, as with his typical extravagance Howard threw all manner of offers and overtures at him, usually at ridiculous expense. Steve fended him off at every turn— “How am I going to keep a low profile in a Rolls Royce?” —but he was touched by how sincerely overjoyed Howard was at his return. Some people, he’d learned, only knew how to express their emotions with their checkbooks.

All over again, he was struck by how like Tony, and how unlike Tony, he was. The same had happened in reverse when he’d first gotten to know the younger Stark. The energy, the ambition, the ceaselessly roving brain and lightning-quick sense of humor, all that had passed straight from father to son. But there was none of Tony’s constant rawness in him, that deep edge of hurt he salved with addiction and pushed limits— a consequence for which Howard himself was in large part responsible. Was that as inevitable as the rest of the path ahead? If Howard was fated to have a son, was it just as fated for that damage between them to be done?

And then of course there was his murder. He and Maria Stark were to die at Bucky’s hands during his period of brainwashed service as the Winter Soldier. That cut at Steve— that he had to dread its coming, and his strong suspicion that there was nothing he could do. The Ancient One had said that the course of history ran strong, and even somebody like Captain America had only limited power to shift it. But he had chosen to return to this time, live his life, with the burden of that knowledge as its condition. It was strange, knowing absolutely everything about this man’s life. But he still wasn’t certain how possible it was to change the course of history. It was a burden he would just have to bear.

Still, Steve hadn’t known just how good it would feel to have friends who really knew him again. Little by little, Peggy brought him into her circle of acquaintance. Though they didn’t dare identify him to everyone, there were those she wanted to know the man in her life. The Jarvises bent over backwards to make him feel welcome, making good on their promise to have them over every chance they got. They were pleasantly down to earth, for all the strangeness of their lives, though it took some time to get Jarvis out the habit of calling him Captain Rogers.

“Sorry, sir—” Jarvis said, then caught himself. “What would you prefer I say?”

“Well… I guess it should be Grant now,” he answered. “But you know I’m just Steve.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Jarvis chuckled, in that restrained English way of his. “But if that’s who you want to be, it would be my honor to help.”

Mrs. Jarvis, at least, was easy around him. She treated him with warm but not diffidence, as if she understood intuitively that he needed someplace to be safely himself. Ana knew, after all, what it was to have to hide in plain sight. And while Steve would never compare his situation to hers, it was nice to have a few people in his life for whom he needed to neither perform nor pretend.

They debated what to do in regard to the Commandos. They had fought and endured so much together through the course of the war, it was no exaggeration to call them brothers in arms. But Peggy’s contact with them was intermittent, since they spent so much time out on classified maneuvers. Any communications sent ran the risk of interception— by the US Army if no one else. Until they knew how to make secure contact, reaching out to them would have to wait.

But she did introduce him to Angie Martinelli, the sassy waitress who had, like the Jarvises, been there for her in the difficult early days adjusting after the war. She was sharp and funny and full of stories, and all Steve ever had to do was ask her how her day had been. She could go on for an evening about the funny anecdotes one collected, auditioning for Broadway during the day while working in a downtown diner at night. Lucky for him, he had a great face for listening.

“Geez, English,” she said, looking him up and down. “A tall drink of water who listens, and can cook? Keep your mitts on this one, or I might snatch him up.”

“Never knew you had such a thing for Italians,” he teased Peggy gently later. “Glad I learned to make a decent _spaghett’_.”

She’d laughed, a little self-consciously, aware that he included Daniel Sousa in that joke. He hoped it would be okay for him to joke about, but fortunately it did not seem to be a sore point. He was reassured by Peggy’s desire for all her most important people to know him. Steve had been afraid there would be no place for him in her world, with all she had to do, and all the baggage that came with him. But this proved that they could lead lives together, not just love one another but live every day in that love. And that led him to make the decision he’d been turning over in his mind for weeks now— to ask Peggy to marry him.

By some reckoning it might have been too fast. It had only been a few months since their reunion, and for him there was still a great deal of healing and adjusting yet to do. But after being ripped apart by time and space once, Steve knew with a crystal clarity what he wanted more than anything now. He was not about to miss his chance again.

He agonized over the choice of the ring. He was determined to do this right, and that meant making a choice that showed he knew her. She didn’t have the taste for fussy things, not with as often as she was called upon to throw a strong left look. But she did treasure the few pieces of simple, modest jewelry she’d inherited from her mother. And in the back of his mind, he remembered the one she’d had back in the other timeline, the one given to her by another man, that she’d worn until the day she died. He studiously avoided anything that reminded him of that one. But he knew if he chose the thing right, it would matter to her.

He thought about making a reservation somewhere romantic. Howard certainly offered to pull strings for him at all the fanciest places in town. But Peggy had been working a lot lately and didn’t seem keen on going out, and he knew he’d have to wait on that longer than he wanted. So instead, he put together a quiet night at home together, over a carbonara and a nice bottle of wine. She had kicked off her shoes and was telling him about her day, venting her frustrations about the bureaucracy and red tape that tied her up at the SSR. He had to admit he was not listening with his usual attention that night. He was distracted trying to gather up his own thoughts, wrangle together the right words. His hand kept drifting to his trouser pocket, where he held the box with the ring.

“Peggy,” he said at last, when there was a lull. “Are you happy?”

She chuffed. “I know I’ve been grumbling too much about work. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

He smiled. “I’m glad. But I meant… since I’ve been back. With me.”

She reached out and twined her fingers in his. “Steve… I never thought I could be so happy. Not until you came back.”

His throat caught. “Really?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.”

He was silent for a moment, too overcome to speak.

Peggy went on instead. “And you, Steve? Have you been happy since you came back?”

He breathed deep. “For a while… I think I forgot what happy was. I lost so much, and was responsible for so much, all I could think about was to keep it all going. It came to the point where I forgot about even wanting anything else.” He knelt on the carpet in front of her. “Except for you. Even through all of that, I could never forget about you. So that when I had a chance to do the impossible and come back to you… it was the first time in forever I could imagine something more. Something for myself. Peggy… you brought me home from the war. That’s where I want to be for the rest of my life.”

He gasped again, trying to steady himself, reaching out for the words. He thought to reach for the ring in his pocket, but he could not bear to take his hands from hers. Then Peggy slid from her chair to the floor in front of him, gazing at him with her enormous brown eyes.

“Steve,” she breathed. “Will you marry me?”

He kissed her until they were both flushed and breathless, words and ring forgotten.


	5. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve confronts a ghost from his former life who, in a way, has a presence here in his new one.

They planned a simple ceremony, nothing elaborate, but Steve had wanted it to be in the church. They would have no attendants, but Howard, Angie, and the Jarvises would stand as witnesses on the altar. Stark used his connections to get him a dress uniform— “When I sent in your measurements, they thought I was pulling a prank!” —while Peggy forwent a gown in favor of a smart white suit.

“I went through the business with the great lace dress,” she told him, referring to her youthful engagement from before she’d found her path. “But this is more my way now. And I can dye it another color and wear it again, rather than turning the whole wardrobe into a mausoleum for it.”

“I still wish you’d wear that red dress. The one in the cantina, that was supposed to be for our first date.”

“You’re the one who wanted the church wedding,” she admonished. “You’d have to be the one to explain it to the pastor.”

“I’m already giving him a false name. We’d better not push our luck.”

It had not been her plan to introduce him to her colleagues. Her relationship with most of them had been contentious, and though she had proven herself with time and her exemplary service, she hadn’t wanted to expose Steve to anyone connected to the establishment. Even those she trusted could put him at risk of being recognized. But there were a few who had stuck their necks out for her, who mutually relied on her for support in the field. It wasn’t right, they decided, to keep such a huge part of herself from people who were supposed to trust her. And he knew that included Daniel Sousa, the man that in another timeline she’d go on to marry.

He’d been long dead by the time Steve had woken up, but Steve was keenly aware of his presence even then in Peggy’s life. He’d wondered a long time who that man was, what he was like, that he’d been the one she’d chosen. Steve hadn’t been sure if he wanted to meet him, but now that he was, he felt some strange sense of obligation, now that he stood where Daniel could not.

He arrived at the diner with Jack Thompson, the head of the SSR. He could tell they were a little leery of him, in that way men sometimes were at first when Captain America wasn’t in play. Even Peggy seemed on edge, putting forth a good operative’s front, but he knew she was concerned for more than just his safety.

“So this is the guy,” Thompson said, taking in all six feet and one inch of him. “The one that got Carter to settle down.”

“Chased her till she caught me,” he said easily, shaking their hands.

Sousa snorted a little, lips quirking. “I believe it. Good to meet the fella that managed that.”

“You sure he knows what he’s getting into?” Jack asked Peggy, tone light but expression keen.

“I doubt it,” she said dryly. “But he’s proven to be a brave man.”

“Then he won’t mind if we put him through his paces a little.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

Peggy glared down her nose. “If you’re thinking of taking him out behind the alley, I can promise you, you won’t pass your own test.”

Jack held up his hands. “Hey, we’re not meatheads! Just wanted to check him out a little. Kick the tires, make sure he’s up to snuff. You know, for you, Carter.”

“Fair enough.” Steve tossed an easy salute. “Reporting for inspection, lieutenant.”

Angie chuckled as she came by to lay out the coffee cups on the table. “I’d tell you to go easy on him. But I don’t think he needs it.”

Sousa gave another half-smile. “We’ll be the judge of that.”

As they checked him out, Steve checked out Sousa. Daniel was a quiet guy, more reserved than Steve was expecting, slow to smile but with a sensibility and genuineness Steve found compelling. The conversation wasn’t heavy, beyond a few compared notes about the war. All of them had served in one capacity or another, and they all still carried it to greater or lesser degrees— none more than Sousa himself, whose wounds persisted to this day. It seemed fair game for Jack to rag him about it, but Steve would gently turn the conversation away. He’d had shin splints before his transformation, and had been no stranger to crutches, or to the comments people made. Sousa made no acknowledgement one way or the other, but Steve could feel the weight of his gaze on him, taking him in, sizing him up. Steve could hardly blame him, though he wasn’t sure how far his relationship with Peggy had progressed— he had not asked, and Peggy had not said. Steve simply remained deferential and unruffled, even in the face of some fairly pointed interrogation masked as friendly ribbing.

“Where’d you serve, Grant? Europe or Pacific?” “What kind of work you do, since you got out?” “Artist, huh? What kind?” “Where’s your family from?” “I get along with everybody, except the krauts. You don’t have any kraut in you, do you, Grant?” “Ah, right. I’m shanty too. Sorry ‘bout that, you just kind of have the look.” “Big fella, aren’t you? How’d you get so big?” “Okay, stupid question. Some guys are just lucky, I guess.” “How’d you meet Carter, anyway?” “You know she gets around, don’t you?” “Aw, Christ, I didn’t mean it like that. Just that she’s got business, knows her own mind. That don’t bother you, does it?”

Steve faced down the firing squad with aplomb, answering as honestly as he could without giving too much away. Even their more aggressive probing he allowed with a smile, knowing it stemmed from a protectiveness of Peggy. The strangest part was the moment he realized Sousa was in almost the same position he’d been, when he’d wondered a thousand things about Peggy’s late husband of forty-five years— where had he served, what had he done, where had he come from, that made him the man she wanted to spend her life with. The wave of empathy filled his chest to bursting, to remember that in another world, Daniel had fathered her son named in Steve’s honor, and Steve was the one left on the outside to wonder.

By the end of the evening, the exchange has grown less pointed and the laughter with more ease. Thompson seemed satisfied enough that his hackles lowered, enough that when clapped Steve’s back on his way out, it didn’t feel like a test of strength. As Peggy walked Jack out, Sousa held back a moment, arranging his crutch with deliberate care, waiting for Angie to clear away the cups. At last he he levered himself to his feet and extended his hand.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Steve said to him.

“It’s been an honor,” he answered. “Captain.”

There it was. A heartbeat went by as Steve modulated his reaction. He glanced up a little, brows knit, no more. “Sorry?”

But Sousa only shook his head, refusing to play. “I saw the way Carter smiles at you. How she looks when she talks about you. There’s only ever been one guy who made her look like that. There only ever could be one.”

Steve wasn’t going to try to bullshit him. “We didn’t want people to know.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not about to mess up anything she wants.” Steve braced himself for questions, but Daniel asked none. He just met Steve’s gaze squarely, expression hard. “Just… take care of her, will you?”

Steve gripped Daniel’s hand in his. “For the rest of my life.”

It was just a small moment, with a different version of the man who’d hung like a ghost in his previous life. But still, Steve felt like he’d come to an understanding he’d needed.


	6. Stag Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy are going to get married. But first, Howard and Jarvis take him out to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playing around with some thematic and plot foreshadowing.

Howard insisted on taking him out for a bachelor party. Steve should have known it was coming and prepared, but Howard would not be swayed. He deflected Steve’s objections one by one with the deftness of a tennis champ.

“I don’t know, Howard, do we have to?”

“You’re getting married, aren’t you? What kind of pal would I be if I let you go to your execution without a last meal?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m going to take you out and we’re going to do it up right.”

Steve didn’t like the sound of that. “Couldn’t we just go to a ball game or something?”

“For your last time out as a free man? Come on!”

“How about fishing?”

“Are you kidding me? Were you _always_ this dull, Rogers?”

“Probably. I used to jump out of planes, though. I think that might have confused you.”

“Well, in that case, thank God you have me.” He patted Steve’s cheek, in a manner Steve presumed he was supposed to find reassuring. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I’ll take care of everything.”

The wedding was Sunday, so he set it for the Friday beforehand to ensure nobody showed up too worse for wear on the day itself. Peggy listened with amusement when he told her Howard was making plans. “Don’t suppose you can forbid me going out?” he asked hopefully, but she just laughed and shook her head.

“Afraid not, soldier. So suit up, you’re going in.” Her lips curled mischievously. “You’re going to have to behave all on your own.”

He rolled his eyes. “Because God knows Stark won’t be any help.”

“Help? He’ll be a hundred percent liability.” She licked her finger and turned the page of her magazine with a flick. “Remember, we never a man behind.”

Jarvis arrived at his apartment building to collect him, with Howard waiting in the car. Steve sighed in resignation on sight of him. “Don’t suppose you could tell him I’ve got a cold or something?”

“I doubt that would deter him now,” Jarvis said. “He’s already halfway through a flask.”

Steve grumbled. “Give it to me straight, then. How bad is this going to be?”

“I managed to talk him out of the, ah— gentleman’s club. He countered with just one girl who’d come out of a cake. When I reminded him what Agent Carter would do to him if he got you into trouble, he mercifully saw reason. I believe we’re down to drinks and a show, though I can’t guarantee your safety beyond that.”

Howard paid a valet to take the car in front of a basement level nightclub. The place was warm in every sense, from the décor, to the low lighting, to the press of snazzy-looking people clustered at round tables before a heavy-curtained stage. The show turned out to be a burlesque, with such lighthearted cheeky acts that, compared with the average twenty-first century music video, it seemed downright quaint. When the girls weren’t dancing, they were threading their way between the tables with drink orders and cigarette trays. Not exactly Steve’s speed, but it was pleasantly lively.

“And here I was afraid you were taking me someplace unsavory,” he joked to Howard. “But now I’m just worried I’m underdressed.”

“What are you talking about? This is a classy place!” He gestured vaguely to the far wall. “I’ve seen Ingrid Bergman in the VIP booth.”

With a raised eyebrow, Steve glanced to Jarvis, who shrugged. “Couldn’t say, I’m afraid. But it did look very like her.” 

Howard ordered them three whiskeys straight, from a staff who seemed to know him there. Honestly Steve would have preferred a beer, but it reminded him of strongly of his son would do it over half a century later, and he was content to let Howard show him a good time. Jarvis hadn’t been kidding when he said Stark had started celebrating early, and before long the man had loosened his tie and was laughing entirely too hard at Steve’s jokes as well as his own. Jarvis took it slow, but even he was growing pleasantly mellow. By the time they began a spirited debate over who had the best fastball in the Yankee bullpen this season, Steve was actually enjoying himself.

At least until Howard, distractible at the best of times, had his attention yanked away by something over Jarvis’s shoulder. He gestured enthusiastically, and Steve turned to see one of the girls waiting tables had caught his friend’s eye. She was dressed like a saloon girl out of some kind of cheesy western, carrying a tray with empty glasses back to the bar, but rerouted at Howard’s summons in their direction. When she got close, Howard tucked a folded bill into her hand and tugged her toward Steve. “Got a minute for my pal here? He’s got one week left to live!”

Steve dredged up a smile as the waitress looked him over in that way women often did, as if they couldn’t quite believe this was where their day had gone. He noted her name, Mabel, was written on a name tag pinned on her bustier, a detail Steve found vaguely absurd.

“Hey there, tall drink of water,” Mabel said, eyes still making their climb all the way up him. “I happen to know there’s a good song coming up.”

He shook his head, and took a seat up against the bar with her, as Howard dragged off Jarvis and withdrew. “I’ll buy you a drink, but I’m not much of a dancer. And I’m spoken for, I’m afraid.”

“Of course you are.” She sighed, hiking her skirt to sit on the next stool over. “All the good ones are taken or dead.”

She said it as a joke, but he heard something buried in her tone. “You lose somebody in the service?”

“Not a sweetheart, if that’s what you’re getting at. But I got to know a lot of pretty decent boys who never came back.” She waved her hand as if realizing something, and hastened to explain. “I used to be a USO girl.”

He couldn’t keep his eyebrows from raising. “Really.” It took everything he had to keep from saying _“Me too.”_ “Where’d they send you?”

“Pacific theater, mostly. Never got on a plane before. Now I hope I never see one again.” 

“Happy to be home, then?”

Mabel tipped her head from side to side. “As much as anybody is. I do miss feeling like I was doing my part for something that mattered. If dancing for a bunch of roughnecks counts.”

Steve recognized that feeling— he’d highjacked a plane and went on a one-man rescue mission in France over it. “We all did what we could, where we could.”

“I suppose. But my sister Carla’s a nurse. She was in a field hospital in Nimes and actually saved folk’s lives. Not sure kick lines measure up compared to that.” She flapped her hand at him. “And look at you! Big fellow like you, you probably were carrying boys out of burning tanks one over each shoulder.”

He laughed. “Did what I could. Sometimes two over each shoulder.”

“Do you miss it? Feeling useful?”

“I served because it was the right thing to do. Not because I wanted to be a soldier.” That had been true since day he enlisted to the moment he decided to lay down the shield. “And there’s got to be ways to pitch in without the world being at war.”

Mabel smiled. “Guess that makes sense. Nobody can get shot at forever.” She considered, pulling at the glove on her left hand. “Would you do it again? If you had to?”

“Enlist in the service? Yeah. If I had to do it all over again, I would.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.” He was about to ask her what she did mean, but she glanced down at the tiny face of a watch on a chain from her pocket. “But I’d better get back on the floor. They like to keep us moving.”

He stood and reached out to shake her hand. “Thanks for the chat.”

She took it, with only a moment’s pause to chuckle. “Right back at you.” She glanced over his shoulder, to where Howard and Jarvis were sitting. “Tell your pals over there hello for me— and not to be too disappointed in you.”

Steve tossed a few bucks on the bar, then made his way back to the table.


	7. Wingmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hangs with his wingmen before his wedding.

Howard had apparently been spying like a schoolboy from the next table over. When Steve sat down again, Howard jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “How’d it go, _Grant?_ One last hurrah before it’s curtains?”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Stark?”

Howard threw back his head. “Of course not. Who says you’re not still a boy scout?” He tossed back the rest of the cocktail he was sipping. “This is what I get for stepping out with two old married men. Or— almost, anyway.”

“You knew what you were getting when you dragged me out.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder. “But we’re here now, so why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the show?”

Luckily, the combined force of him and Jarvis seemed to make for a good enough influence to keep the man in line. Steve was actually enjoying himself, even when Howard would break off conversation to catcall the dancers and cigarette girls.

Steve watched him work his magic with a redhead in a costume that seemed distantly inspired by a naval uniform. “I thought this was supposed to be my party.”

Jarvis arranged his face into a particularly benign mask. “I’m afraid for Mr. Stark, this is how a party goes.”

“So much for the special occasion.”

“Tell me about it.” He raised his glass in ironic toast. “Your party is my job.”

“At least you get to drink on it.”

“And you get to say what you’re thinking,” he shot back, smirking over the rim of the glass. “Though I’ll admit the drinking helps with that. Still one of us ought to keep a clear head tonight, since it shan’t be Mr. Stark.”

“No problem there. As it happens, I can’t get drunk even if I try.”

“Because of… the procedure?” Steve could see Jarvis’s eyes light up with interest. He didn’t talk about it often, and Jarvis was too polite to pry, but Steve knew most people were fascinated by the vagaries of his being a super soldier. So he nodded, and Jarvis couldn’t help but snicker.

“That must have been interesting to discover.”

“You’re telling me. Right when I could’ve used it most.”

“During the war?”

“When my best friend died.” Or at least, when he thought he had.

Jarvis’s eyebrows leaped. “Sergeant Barnes. Peggy told me.” His surprise softened into sympathy. “That must have been very hard.”

Steve nodded, dropping his gaze. “Turned out it wasn’t so simple. And it got pretty rough before it got better. But he was my brother. I would have done anything to spare him what he went through.” His friend’s journey had been a long and strange one, more so even than Steve’s in its way. He took comfort in the knowledge that when they’d parted, Bucky was safe and more his own man than he’d been in years. But reaching it had been a brutal road.

Jarvis seemed to understand the weight of it. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, it must be painful to think of.”

Steve saw the distressed way Jarvis was watching him, so he reached out and grasped the man’s arm in reassurance. “Don’t worry about it. I think about him a lot, with everything I owe him.”

He always thought of Bucky, his dearest friend from their childhood bond up to their last meeting, when Bucky had given him the courage to even contemplate the life he’d wanted for himself. And lately Steve had wondered about the Bucky of this timeline, where he’d been at this point in 1947. Bucky’s memories had been too blurred and scattered to give a full account of his whereabouts since HYDRA had taken him from the custody of the Soviets that found him. They weren’t even sure when exactly he’d been rescued from the mountainside where he fell. He could have spent ages frozen in ice the same as Steve had. And heaven only knew what he’d had to endure between then and when their reunion in the twentieth century had begun pulling him back to himself. And yet again, he had no way of knowing how much or little their paths ahead would change.

It was at that point that Howard returned, elbow shockingly unoccupied, by the girl he’d just been chatting up nor any other. His walk was steadier than Steve would have expected, but now his tie was gone entirely and his slicked-back hair starting to come askew. It was more than enough to rescue the mood.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you back,” Steve remarked. “Did you strike out or something?”

Howard scoffed. “Hey, does Joltin’ Joe strike out? It’s your night, pal, I’m not going to abandon you.” His eyebrows raised and lowered. “Besides, who’s to say things won’t keep?”

“Make sure you’ve gotten her name right this time, sir,” Jarvis murmured into his glass.

Steve laughed. “When kids collect baseball cards, at least they remember which one is which.”

Howard spread his hands, grinning. “Some men pin butterflies to cards. I prefer to catch them and set them free.”

Steve shook his head, but Howard was undeterred. He took a slug as one of the girls passed him yet another drink. “Of course you’d wag your finger at me. Except for Carter, you have let that lightning in a bottle go to complete waste.”

Steve barked a laugh. “What does that mean?”

“Jesus Christ. Like I gotta explain? If I was driving what you’re riding around in, I’d have put it to better use than just running into burning buildings saving pussycats.”

Steve glanced to Jarvis, who knew which picture Peggy kept of him— the one from his days in basic training, before the serum —and they exchanged a grin. “You’re just begging for her to pop you one, aren’t you? Besides, it doesn’t look like you have any trouble. It isn’t enough to just tell them your net worth?”

Jarvis laughed mirthlessly. “I believe, my friend, you are referring to the nuclear option.”

“What?”

“Devastatingly effective, but… in the end, nobody wins.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I have had to eject quite a few disappointed assignations drawn in on that pretense.”

Steve snorted in amusement. “So that’s your plan, Stark? Just keep going through them until you’re a little old man, and you die in the arms of a twenty-year-old?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Steve chuckled, marveling. He didn’t know much about Maria, but she must be a hell of a woman, if she would get Stark to settle down, and put up with him for the rest of their lives.

It was around two when they’d all had enough— Steve of the evening, and Howard of the sauce. Stark was not eager to go, even when he nearly tripped over a cigarette girl, but it was clear he’d need a little help getting back out the door. Jarvis went to sent for the valet to bring the car around while Steve took physical charge of Howard.

“Hey, watch it, I was getting somewhere!”

“Yeah, yeah. And now it’s time to be getting home.” With one easy toss, he had Howard over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Jarvis returned amid the giggles from other patrons, surveying the state of affairs. “Do you need a hand, then?”

“I think I’ve got it. See, Howard?” he asked of the semi-conscious man draped over him. “I haven’t let my talents go to total waste.”

Jarvis looked it over, impressed. “Hm. A very efficient strategy. Where were you the last dozen times I could have used it?”

“I take it you’ve got to be his wingman often, then.”

Jarvis stumbled momentarily over the idiom, but like most folks who’d lived through World War II, he figured it out from context and was amused. “That’s one way to put it. But I must say, it was a great deal more fun than usual with you here.”

Steve poured Howard into the back seat, and when he exited the passenger side upon Jarvis arriving at his door, he paused a moment to lean back in through the window.

“Thanks for a hell of a night,” he said to Jarvis. “And make sure he’s upright on Sunday.”

It was a simple affair, the way they wanted it. The church would still be decorated with Easter flowers. There would just be the six of them in attendance, which amused Angie— “Does that mean Howard Stark’s my date?” There would be no honeymoon anytime soon, Peggy was not even taking much time away from work. The fanciest part of it all would be their old-fashioned wedding breakfast after the ceremony, generously hosted by Howard at the Hotel Astor. Peggy had gone with Angie to the Jarvises’ to dress, who would then bring her to the church in a town car. Steve and Howard would meet them there. 

“Looking sharp, soldier,” Howard had said, straightening Steve’s tie for him just before they climbed into the cab. “Once more into the breach?”

Neither of them had wanted to make too much of a fuss. They wanted to be married, and how they got there was less important. Still, as Steve waited beside the priest, and Peggy appeared in the aisle in her simple white suit and draped with her gossamer veil— handmade for her by Ana Jarvis, framing her face in a column of light —his breath caught in his throat and tears sprang to corners of his eyes. With just the barest tremble in his voice, Steve swore to love and honor and protect her, for the rest of his life, marveling that they had come to this place, against all possible odds. And when he’d slid that ring onto Peggy’s finger, he kissed her until the world fell away. Distantly he was aware of Angie’s cheer and Howard’s wolf-whistle, but they did not break apart until Peggy tossed her bouquet of lilies right at Stark. For a moment Steve was so overcome he thought he might cry, but the man’s look of horror at catching it made him burst into laughter instead.

All that remained was the signing of the certificate. Steve had been avoiding anything that required any paperwork— much easier to manage in these days —but Howard was glad to supply him with everything from a birth certificate to service records to a membership in the Little Orphan Annie fan club.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t grateful. Still, he looked over some of the history Howard had chosen for him unconvinced. “Born in Nebraska? Really?”

“As if anybody wouldn’t believe you weren’t some cornfed farm boy. Didn’t you see the back country and whatnot on that USO tour?”

“Cows don’t buy war bonds, Howard. I grew up in Brooklyn, I never even saw a farm until I got to Europe.”

Stark shrugged, not in the least concerned. “In New York, nobody else has either. They won’t know the difference.”

The only stumble came when it was time to fill out the marriage license. With his new identity, he was momentarily at a loss what to write. But then inspiration struck, a way to obscure his real name, and to honor the career that Peggy was building. In a perfection solution, he wrote down the name that he would now be known to the world.

Grant Carter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Steve takes Peggy's last name makes me very happy.


	8. Mr. Carter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy begin their married life together, but exceptional people never quite become ordinary, even when they try.

They got a house just outside the city center, a short ride in to Peggy’s work on the train. It had been a long time since Steve had lived anywhere that really felt like a home to him— since his mother’s death in Brooklyn, to life on the road with the USO, to the military camps during the war, to the overblown extravagance of Avengers Tower, to the sterile accommodations provided by SHIELD, to his time on the run with Natasha. To say nothing of the melancholy, holding-pattern years after the snap. But this place was quietly comfortable, nothing fancy, neither sprawling nor cramped, with a chimney and a yard. To Steve’s sensibility, it was exactly what a house should be like.

When they agreed to take it, they took the train ride out just to be in it, walk through the rooms, picture their lives there. “Do you really like it?” Peggy was asking. “I know you’re a city mouse. But I grew up with a bit of the country. Could you imagine yourself living here?”

“Hmmm,” he murmured, turning on the radio he spied in the corner and tuning for a moment. “Let’s see how it feels.” Luck was with him, and before long he’d found the perfect song. He stood and turned to Peggy, extending his hand to her. She smiled and moved in close, but he kept the one hand extended and wrapped the other around her. He could see the shock and joy dawning on her face as he turned her smoothly around the living room in an easy, swaying waltz. 

“Where did this come from?” she murmured, face pressing against his chest.

Steve smiled. “I’ve been practicing. Didn’t want to disappoint my best girl.”

They danced together in each other’s arms, to the strains of “It’s Been a Long, Long Time,” and not for the first time, Steve marveled that he was here. 

They settled quickly into making their new home their own. It turned out he had an eye for color and arranging furniture. Peggy was surprised, in a way that left him vaguely put out.

“I did go to art school,” he said, in defense of his honor.

“Well, forgive me,” she answered, holding up her hands in surrender. “That I didn’t think a man who spent his life hurling a shield would have any opinions on the drapes.”

“You know, in the twenty-first century, folks try to move past that kind of pigeonholing. How’d you like me to assume you did give a damn about drapes?” 

“Fair. But I think cutting any more slack to the uniformed brutes I deal with on a daily basis is the last thing I need to do.” 

He couldn’t help but grin as he pulled her close for a kiss. “I guess you’d know. You’re the career soldier, not me.” 

It had been a long time since he’d had a job outside of military or government service, but Steve was determined to put that firmly behind him. He took up freelance illustration work, from a studio they set up in a spare bedroom of their house. On a drafting table in the sunbeam of an east-facing window, he would sketch diagrams for textbooks and covers for dime store novels, eventually finding a regular engagement in comic books. Peggy got a kick out of the idea that he was drawing somebody else’s idea of superheroes; when he started working on Superman, she’d laughed herself silly. 

It was not all smooth sailing, fitting into a neighborhood of regular folks in 1948. It was inevitable that people found them a little strange. Most of the women had work of some kind or another— a few had even been Rosies who kept up their factory or office jobs —but they looked slightly askance at how his kept him at home while Peggy’s took her into the city every day. And Peggy’s accent, coupled with their tendency to seek out different sorts of people rather than sticking to their own kind, raised a few eyebrows. It was a particular adjustment for Steve, for whom the biases and baggage of postwar life stood out to him all the more strongly since his immersion in the twenty-first century. 

But he was determined to live on his own terms, friendly and welcoming to everyone he met, holding no patience for anyone who wasn’t. Fortunately, people tended to like him on short acquaintance— “Gee whiz, wonder why?” Howard had grumbled —and he set the tone of openness in all his interactions. He made an effort to know his neighbors, with dropped off gifts of home baked pies and handmade spice racks. He joined a local softball team, and made a point of inviting the women and people of color in the neighborhood to play with them too. One of the things he’d missed most in the future was the sense of local community, and he was determined to rediscover it in his new life now. 

He had particular success with their veteran status. Once people heard they’d met in the service, all kinds of stories came out. Folks shared their joys and their triumphs, the tough times they’d endured and the people they’d lost. Steve’s frankness to discuss the things he’d seen in war seemed to make other feel safe enough to talk— sometimes about things they’d never had before. It even led to the couple at the far end of their block, Don and Rebecca Hayward, revealing to them that she was a Nisei whose birth name was Rishun Murikawa, and they too had met in the army. Don had been a supply clerk due to training as an accountant; Rishun had been on active duty assigned to a special unit. She was vague on the details of that unit, but Steve had done enough special service of his own to suspect he might be talking to a kindred spirit. From her discretion, Steve surmised that she, also like him, had left it all behind in retirement. 

He made an effort to keep in training, just in case. He made a point of hitting the boxing gym three times a week, and though he quickly got on the good side of the big, rough men that frequented the place, he had to tread carefully. He could pass off most of his capability as military training, but if he ever cut loose and punched a speed bag across the room, there would be questions he did not want to answer. 

It was more for emergencies than anything else. If he were ever found out, there could be trouble, trouble he would not be able to talk his way out of. But in the back of his mind, he knew he also wanted to be ready in case Peggy ever needed something. She was more active in the field than ever, building her career and serving her country as a covert agent. He knew that she was often in tight situations, sometimes very dire. On occasion she would be gone for days at a time, when the objectives took her away or when missions got complicated. But no matter what she was taking on at any given time, one thing she never did was ask for his help. 

He hadn’t precisely been expecting her to, but he knew what her work entailed, and during the war they’d operated together as a well-honed team. But even when she confided in him about her current endeavors, sometimes beyond the limits of what confidentiality ought to call for, she never asked for any support or involvement on his part. From Jarvis, she asked, even Howard on occasion. But not him. It was striking enough that eventually Steve felt obligated to ask her why.

“I’m not saying you need me. I know you can take care of your own business. But I did wonder if… you were afraid to, for some reason.” 

She seemed surprised by the question. “I’m not about to expose you to them— not to the government, not to the SSR. Even if you hadn’t told me there would be a HYDRA infiltration at some point, you’d never have a moment’s peace. If they knew you were back…” She shook her head, as if the possibility was too infuriating to contemplate. 

“That’s fair.” He reached out and took hold of her hand. “But I don’t want you to think you can’t count on me. Not if you really need me.” 

“No.” Her fingers tightened around his, and she spoke the word with the finality of a vault door slamming shut. “You’ve done enough. My work might not be over, but this isn’t on you anymore. Not after everything you’ve been through.” She softened enough to allow herself a smile. “Besides, you’ve only just retired. At least give yourself a chance before you decide you’re bored of it.” 

But Steve was far from bored. This was what he’d been working to build. Life finally had a shape to it, a rhythm they had settled into that felt comfortable and right. So of course, that was when they learned that Peggy was pregnant. 

It was the morning sickness that really gave it away. Peggy had been on all manner of planes, trains, ships, and automobiles without the slightest issue with nausea. But when fifteen minutes on the Staten Island ferry did her in, it was clear something was up. Still, the possibility didn’t occur to Peggy until Angie made note that she wasn’t much for her usual morning eggs lately.

“Just like a newlywed,” Angie teased. “Don’t take long before you’ve got yourself knocked up.” She may have been joking, but after a few weeks of this, it was off to the doctor for a rabbit test.

He had to confess, their first reaction was not unqualified joy— particularly for Peggy. They had not been expecting it; certainly they had not been trying for it. She had challenges enough being taken seriously in her work, even after everything she’d accomplished. A pregnant agent on active duty was unheard of. And when the baby was born, how would motherhood fit in? 

“I hadn’t been planning to take time off to bring up a baby,” she said, raking her nails through her loosened hair. Her fear was so palpable, her uncertainty so vast, that Steve couldn’t bear it. Not after having sworn to see that he gave her the life she wanted. It was enough in that moment to make up his mind. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I will.” 

She glanced up at him, eyes wide. He was surprised at her surprise, that it seemed to not occur to her. But as forward-thinking a woman she was, she hadn’t had the benefit of living through a completely different culture to adjust her mindset the way he had. 

“You?” she said, skeptical. “You would be the one to raise the child at home?”

“I’d hope we’d raise it together,” he chuckled. “But I could be the one to stay home with it. In the twenty-first century, men do it all the time.”

She considered that, eyeing him. “Really? All the time?”

He sighed. “Well, no. But some men do. And I think I could.” 

She laughed a little, shaking her curls. “What do you know about babies?”

“About as much as you do. But I figure we could learn.” He pulled her close into his arms. “Most people do, don’t they? After all, they let just anybody have them.”

Peggy laid her head against his chest and was silent for a moment. Then, “Was this something you wanted for us?”

“Honestly I hadn’t thought of it in a while. Feels a little silly now. But when I used to imagine a life, and making one with you… yeah, I imagined us with kids.” He chuckled. “Maybe not this minute, but… maybe by now, I should know better than to try and guess what’s coming for me.”

He tipped up her chin so that she would look at him. “And you?”

He knew what the answer had been for her in his previous timeline— or at least, what it had seemed to be when she’d made a life with another man. That she’d been a mother as that other version of herself had been one of the few things about her life there she’d allowed herself to know. But what if things were different now? What if there had been some secret regret in her twenty-first century self that she’d never allowed him to see?

He could see the distress in her eyes. “It isn’t that I don’t, Steve. I think it’s something I’ve wanted since I was a girl. But now that I’ve found my work… I don’t think I can live without it. It’s already hard enough to push through all the nonsense and the bias against me. And it won’t be any easier with the demands of a child on top of it all. What if I can’t manage it? What if I can’t keep it all up?” Her breath hitched, and his guts twisted. “Do I fail my baby… or myself?” 

He could have reassured her with his knowledge from the future then. That she’d founded an entire organization, served as its director, and retired a living legend among the people that fought to keep the world safe. And she’d done it all with two children, who had grown up strong and smart and happy.

He tightened his arms around her. “Peggy,” he said at last. “I will do everything in my power to support you. I promise you, I will see you have your career.” 

That moment resolved him. Promises about an uncertain future in a different world were nothing. All that was real was what he could do now.


	9. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy tell people about their pregnancy, and Steve works out his fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have redivided these chapters into smaller chunks (specifically, breaking them into their small sub-arcs) in order to make things feel more balanced.

Pregnancy didn’t suit her. She was nauseous and dizzy through much of the first trimester, making fieldwork an increasing challenge. The changes to her appearance weighed on her, as she was determined to keep it from her colleagues as long as she possibly could. Fear of being marginalized in her work haunted her, making her reluctant to even let the likes of Thompson and Sousa know. 

Peggy shared her fears with him one night, on the couch across from him with her feet in his lap. “Even if they don’t toss me right out, heaven knows they’ll start treating me like a china doll.” 

“They just worry about you and want you to be okay.” 

She eyed him. “Don’t you get any ideas, soldier. I can still handle myself enough to knock you on your arse, if you start trying to put me on a shelf for my own good.” 

He chuckled. “You don’t need to tell me— or Thompson, I’d bet. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to forget.” 

Still, Peggy did not feel particularly reassured. Steve understood, though he was worried more for a different reason. He hadn’t wanted to burden Peggy with it, given everything else she had to do deal with. But he knew he had to tell her, in case his fears actually did come to pass. 

“Peg, do you ever wonder how… the baby will come out?” 

She glanced up at him, confused. “What do you mean?” 

Steve swallowed hard. “The procedure. You know it changed me. In some ways I don’t think anybody ever expected.” 

Peggy smirked. “Better than they ever expected, as far as I can tell.” 

But he didn’t smile. “But what is that going to mean for the baby?” 

She considered. “I… I confess I hadn’t really thought about it. What with everything else. But Steve, it’s done nothing but good for you. If anything, don’t you think our baby would inherit something of your advantages?” 

“I don’t know. And that’s the problem— nobody knows.” He shook his head. “A second-generation super soldier… as far as I know, that’s never happened before. And even if the baby’s fine, or better than fine…” 

He trailed off, and Peggy sat up. “What?” 

Steve swallowed. “If the wrong people find out about it—” 

“They won’t.” Her tone was steel. “We’ll make sure of it.” 

Steve slid to his knees and moved in close to her, winding their hands together in her lap. “Still. We don’t know how things will work out. What if there’s something wrong?” 

Peggy took his face in her hands and leaned in to kiss his brow. “Then we’ll be there to see it through. Whatever that may be.” 

It wasn’t enough to take away his fears, but her promise made him feel brave enough to face them. 

When she was far enough along to have a little confidence, they started telling people. Just a few at a time, starting with those closest to them. Steve was strangely uncertain of their reactions, and found himself bracing every time. 

Howard, of course, did not disappoint. “A baby? You got to be kidding me! Why would you do that to yourselves?” 

“Truth is, we weren’t planning on it just yet. But we’re glad now that it’s happened.” 

“Right, pal, you say that now. But you ever handled a sprout before? It’s like a bomb about to go off— they’re loud, they’re fragile, and they make a hell of a mess.” 

“What do you know about kids, Howard?” Not much, if what little Tony had told him was to be believed. 

“Even to know you’re in for it.” Howard sighed and threw up his hands extravagantly. “Can you imagine? You’ll make a pack of little blond Ubermenschen. The Fuhrer’s wet dream.” 

Steve’s head snapped in his direction. “Hey!” 

Howard held up his hands. “Sorry. Bad taste.” 

Steve knew he was just joking, but it ate at him all the same. He supposed he should count himself lucky it was still quite a few years too early for a Von Trapp Family Singers crack. But there were people who would be thrilled to have a natural-born super soldier to examine like a lab rat. This went beyond his wish to leave Captain America behind him. It fired a fierceness in him that startled even him. Nothing like that was ever going to happen to his children. Nothing. 

Howard relented a little at his annoyance. “Aw, it suits you, I guess. Playing papa, having a catch… teaching ‘em how to… stage a one-man invasion into enemy camp.” 

“Is that what you think fathers do?” If he did, it might explain a few things. 

But Howard just gave a careless shrug. “Doesn’t matter. You can bet I won’t be tying that millstone around my neck.” 

Again his tone was lighthearted, but Steve couldn’t help but wonder. He smiled, in that way he’d learned to when he was a little sad. Was this why Howard would be so hard on the son he’d eventually come to have? “You sound pretty sure about that.” 

Howard sank into his chair, fixing him with a glare. “What do you know, soldier?” 

Steve thought of that brilliant, brazen, broken man who would change the world and then die to save it. 

“Take it from me, Stark. Nobody knows where they’re headed.” 

The Jarvises gave them the more traditional enthusiastic response. They had gone over for dinner, and gave the news over dessert. If Edwin was effusive, Ana was overjoyed, and the sheer warmth of it made them feel shockingly braced. Despite this, Steve had been a little warier about telling them based on some reading between the lines. As Ana took Peggy aside to regale her with plans for sewing baby clothes, Edwin took him out on the verandah for a celebratory cigar. 

“I know you don’t indulge,” Jarvis said, snipping off the end of one. “But since it’s traditional, I hope you won’t mind if I do.” 

Steve didn’t, so Jarvis struck a match and began to puff. “I’m thrilled for you, Steve.” 

“Thank you.” He chuckled. “Though I can’t say I’m not scared.” 

“I can’t blame you. After making the world safe for other people’s children, I can only imagine how daunting raising one must be.” 

“I’m not sure that it’s the same skill set.” He sighed. “I’ll be honest, we hadn’t been planning on this. I’m glad, but… I’m can’t say that I’m ready.” 

“Nobody ever is,” Jarvis said. “Not for something like that. Even for those of us who know they want it.” 

Steve took that in, considering. Then finally he said, “If you don’t mind my asking, did you and Ana ever want any of your own?” 

Jarvis smiled, and the bittersweet quality of it confirmed Steve’s suspicion. “Very much, in truth. We tried, for a long while, but for whatever reason, it never came to be.” 

Steve’s brows knit. “I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you. But we’ve had time to come to terms. There’s always been so much to do— so much to worry over —that I wonder if it isn’t for the best.” 

“Still. Must have been hard.” 

“I suppose.” Jarvis paused for a puff of his cigar, staring out into the dark. “But it makes me all the gladder when I hear the likes of you and Peggy will get the chance to do it.” 

Steve’s breath caught a little in his throat, touched. “You think I’ll be any good at it?” 

His friend chuckled behind the cigar. “Like you are at everything else?” 

Steve snorted. “Really. It’s like you said— there’s always so much to worry about. I don’t know that much about kids, but… they ask a lot of you, don’t they? What if we’re not up to it? Or else…” He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “The other things interfere? What if I can’t protect it?” 

Jarvis seemed to consider this a long time. “I can’t say what will happen if a life like yours has a child in it,” he said at last. “I know no parent can protect against everything. But I’ve seen how you’ve stood for those you felt responsible. If you could do that for so many in this world… I can only imagine what you’ve do for a child of your own.” 

Jarvis paused a moment, as Steve caught his lower lip between his teeth. “And I can think of quite a few aunts and uncles who’d be more than happy to help.” He glanced over at Steve, who had turned away. “Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t—” 

“It’s your damn cigar,” Steve chuckled, swiping his knuckles across his cheek. “Got smoke in my eyes.” 

The other man smiled. “Yes. Mine too, I think.”


	10. Suiting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy may be struggling with pregnancy, but there's someone who knows what she's going through, and has an idea of how to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short bite. Will likely reorganize at a later point.

Steve found it bracing, to know he was not alone. Thank goodness, too, as Peggy was relying on him to support her through the challenges of pregnancy. As she grew stouter, she became frustrated by her own clumsiness, and by all her clothes that no longer fit. The other women in the neighborhood were happy to pass along their old maternity clothes— at least, what had not been repurposed for other things during the war —but few were the kind of thing expected for a working girl to wear to the office. Or, in Peggy’s case, into the field. 

“What in the world am I going to do?” she grumbled one evening, as she stood over all her old fieldwork gear spread out uselessly over their bed. 

Steve leaned against the doorframe. “Ask someone in the quartermaster’s to help you?” 

She growled. “I hardly think they keep anything stocked for expectant mothers. And I’m sure there’s someone who’d love to use this an excuse to push me to the sidelines.” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was weighing the feasibility of suggesting making something on short notice, since neither of them were expert hands with a needle, when suddenly the doorbell rang. 

They turned to look at one another. In a neighborhood like theirs, it was rare to have a visitor at this time of night. Quizzically they went together to answer. 

“Mrs. Hayward?” 

It was indeed their neighbor Rebecca, sometime known as Rishun, wife of former supply clerk Don Hayward and another veteran of some kind of special assignment. She smiled up at them cheerfully, her hair covered with a kerchief and a basket hung from her arm. 

“What brings you here?” 

“Pardon me for disturbing at this time of night,” she said. “But I heard you were in need of some maternity clothes. I thought I might be able to help.” 

“Thank you, Rishun, that’s terribly kind,” Peggy said, as the woman walked past her into the house. “But I’m afraid it’s not your everyday sort of dress I’m in need of--” 

Peggy’s mouth fell open when Rishun unfurled the contents of her basket with a snap. In her hand she held up a canvas jumpsuit, military issue with quilted leather pads at the knees and elbows. 

“I thought so. Might this be something you had in mind?” 

In no time, Rishun had the suit on Peggy in the living room, bustling around with her pins to nip it in here and tuck it in there. 

“Hmmm, just as I thought,” she murmured as she worked. “A little too long in the leg, but the sleeves and shoulders are about right." 

Peggy regarded herself in the mirror Steve had obligingly brought out from their bedroom into the living room. “Rishun,” she breathed. “How is it that you have this?” 

Rishun smiled, and took the pins from her mouth to slip them into the fabric. “You are not the first woman I’ve known to do the kind of work that needed it.” 

Peggy and Steve exchanged a glance as the petite neighbor lady surveyed and adjusted the fit. Steve had suspected an unconventional wartime background of her from the way she’d spoken of her period of service, but her instinctive understanding of the needs of a woman in Peggy’s position seemed to confirm it. 

“Yes, this should do nicely,” she said, after Peggy had taken the pinned garment off and she folded it back into her basket. “Give me a day or two, and I should have it finished by then. Unless you need it before then?” 

“That’s perfect, Rishun, thank you.” Peggy clasped her hand in gratitude. “You’ve saved my life.” 

“Oh, think nothing of it. It wasn’t too long since I was expecting my Keiko.” Keiko was the Haywards' little daughter, just coming up on two years old. “I remember how difficult it could be for a woman in your position. A little help from a sister can make all the difference.” 

Steve showed her to the door as Peggy disappeared into the bedroom to redress. She smiled at him and was about to disappear into the dark when suddenly he called out to her. 

“Mrs. Hayward— Rishun?” 

She turned, and he had to ask. 

“The suit,” he said. “Was it yours? From… your special service?” 

She laughed as if the very notion was ridiculous. “Grant,” she chided. “I’d be swimming in that one. Peggy’s quite a few inches taller than me, after all.” 

She continued down the walk toward home. 

It wasn’t until Steve had gone to bed and just about fallen asleep that it occurred to him. Rishun had served in a unit. It wasn’t just her— there were others like her. Others a bit taller than Peggy, but close in the sleeves and shoulders. 

He filed this away for future reference.


	11. On Maneuvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A knock at the door when Peggy’s on a mission throws plans into a tailspin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short update! May condense with future chapters later.

Steve was alone in the house when the girl came banging on the door. It was late but he was not asleep, instead burning the midnight oil in his studio on an anatomical diagram for a medical almanac, picking out the fine bones in the human hand. Peggy was out on maneuvers and had been for several days, despite her due date drawing near. She was all but entirely out on leave by this point, with the intent that all her fieldwork be placed on hold. But when there had been word of a fugitive HYDRA agent she’d been keeping tabs on for months surfacing in D.C., there was no one else who understood his M.O. like she did. And so, after a bit of agonizing on both their parts, they decided she had to strap on Rishun’s jumpsuit and take on the job. 

She had been gone for nearly a week now and had managed to call home only once. That was not unusual for missions where she had too much to do and too much to lose if communications were intercepted. But it meant Steve did his best to swallow his concerns and wait, trusting in her capability to, as always, see her through. 

The frantic knocking burst through the evening stillness and jolted him from his concentration. His instincts told him it was too unsubtle to mean a threat, but at this hour of the night, there was no chance it was anything good.

He answered it to a gawky, olive-complexioned girl with cat-eye glasses and a badge from the SSI. “M-Mr. Carter?” she stammered, holding out the badge. “I’m Lottie Salazar? I’m Lieutenant Thompson’s secretary? The lieutenant sent me?”

Steve kept his tone even. “Nice to meet you, miss. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, sir. Well, no, sir— well, you see—”

“Is it Agent Carter?” he cut in, trying to conceal his growing apprehension. 

“Yes, sir. It’s only— it’s just—” She gasped in a breath and tried to pull herself together. “The message came in a few hours ago. Agent Carter, she’s— she’s in labor.”

Heartbeats went by as Steve processed the words. “The… the baby?” He stared, his whole body rooted to the spot. “It’s coming?”

Lottie nodded frantically, fingers knotting. “They sent to tell you, sir. Out on the _subway._ Sorry I’m such a mess— I’ve never taken the train this late—” 

“Lottie,” he cut her off, dazed. “What happened?”

“Oh! Oh, of course. We just got the message in over the wire— on Agent Carter’s secure frequency. I don’t know how much I can say, sir— the mission’s, well, it’s—”

“Classified,” he murmured. Classified, and actively operating. This was what Steve had been dreading; while Peggy had worried for her career, for compromising the integrity of her missions, but he could not help but fear for her and the baby itself, placed in the line of fire in the course of her work. 

“Has there been an extraction?” he asked, forgetting himself in the moment. He could hear her little sound of bemusement to hear him use such terms, so he hastened to explain. “I served too, you know. During the war.”

She nodded with a gusty breath. “I guess you could say that, sir. But we didn’t send anyone. She— connected with an old contact, it seems. That contact is seeing her to a hospital, last we heard.”

Steve had a thousand more questions— what contact? Where were they exactly? What was Peggy’s status when labor began? —but he knew it was more than Lottie’s job was worth to tell him. He settled for a simple one: “What hospital?”

“The one at George Washington University, Mr. Carter.”

The initial shock warn off, all Steve’s old campaign instincts kicked into gear, strategizing, weighing all his options with the information at hand. “Lottie, are they expecting you back at the office?”

She blinked behind her large cat-eye glasses. “Ah… I don’t think so, sir. All they told me was to tell you.” 

He ducked behind the front stairway, for where Peggy’s emergency suitcase had been stashed since she entered her third trimester. “And is there anybody at home who’s waiting up for you?”

“No, sir. By now they’re used to me getting called in to work at all hours.”

At that, Steve decided. “I see. Lottie, can you read a map?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Carter?”

He strode out door with the girl nervously trailing, slamming the lock behind him and heading to the driveway for the car. “There’s one in the glove box. I could use a navigator. Tell me what exit will aim us at DC.”

By this point he wouldn’t have thought the girl had any gasps left in her, but that moment proved him wrong. Her eyes darted between him and the waiting Chevy. “But, sir— it’s after midnight— and it’s gotta be four hours away!”

“Miss Salazar,” he chuckled. “You seem like a good kid— like you want to help folks out. You should know, I’ve traveled a lot longer and a lot farther than that when she needed me. So that sure as hell won’t stop me now.”

She gulped. Steve threw open the door and tossed the suitcase inside. 

“So, what do you say, miss? Road trip?”


	12. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve arrives in the hospital waiting room in DC in hopes of meeting Peggy there.

“What do you mean, she’s not here yet?”

When they told him he could hardly process the words. They’d arrived in the maternity ward at George Washington after a fair bit less than four hours, thanks to the speeding Steve could get away with at that time of night. Lottie had proved competent enough with the map, when she could be convinced to attend to it amidst her nervous rambling, and better company than he could appreciate, given where his mind was. Now they found themselves eye to eye with the girl working the graveyard shift behind the administration desk, as she flipped through a stack of charts.

“If you’re referring to Margaret Carter, we received a call that she was on the way. But she wasn’t in an emergency vehicle, so we don’t know when to expect her.”

Steve stared, thoroughly knocked for a loop. What did it mean, that she still hadn’t arrived? Had she been pinned down somewhere while she was out on the mission, unable to escape? Had she been waylaid on her way to the hospital? Or had something terrible happened, that meant she was no longer in a condition to travel?

In wracking the possibilities he recalled something. He turned to ask Lottie, where she was lingering nervously a few steps behind him. “She had a contact, you said. Somebody she met in the field. Have they checked in since? Is there any way to reach them?”

Lottie swallowed, and marshaled herself. “I’ll— I’ll get on the wires, Mr. Carter. I’ll see what I can find out.”

He reached out and gave her hand a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, Lottie. In the meantime… I guess I’ll be here.”

She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose with purpose, then marched her way down the hall. That left Steve on his own in the lobby to the maternity ward, to sit on his hands until somebody told him something. 

He heaved a gusty sigh and turned to pace, running his hands through his hair. He was distracted enough to have thought he was alone, but a voice cut through his distraction. 

“Let me guess. Is this your first?”

Steve turned to see another man in the waiting room, seated in one of the chairs behind him. He was a little older than Steve would have expected, for a man waiting on a new baby, and a little rumpled in the way one was after sitting up into the wee hours of the evening. 

“Yes,” Steve admitted, dropping his gaze and forcing himself to stand still. The man offered him a sympathetic smile. 

“Of course. The first time’s always rough— for the likes of us, I mean.” He winced apologetically. “Sorry about that. Don’t mean to make things worse. The name’s Harlan, by the way. Harlan Page.” 

“Grant Carter,” he answered, taking the man’s hand, hoping he didn’t sound as distracted as he felt. “I take it you’ve been through this before?”

Harlan nodded. “Third time for us. Practically old hat by now— though I certainly remember what it was like in your seat.” He held up an unlit cigarette. “Do you mind?” Steve shook his head; he was no fan, but he had more pressing things to worry about.

Harlan struck a match on a book of them. “I don’t envy where you are right now. I was a grade-A wreck our first time through— and at least I was with my wife when the ball got rolling.” He paused, tilting his head curiously. “What was it that took your missus away?”

Steve explained that they were New Yorkers, but her work had called her away to Washington on an emergency. Harlan’s eyes went wide.

“At nine months? Must be one important lady.”

He didn’t know the half of it. “She is. But when things began happening, I was told to meet her here.” He swallowed hard. “I— thought she’d be here by now.” 

Harlan’s face drew in sympathy. “That’s rough, pal. I thought I’d been through it.”

“Yeah?” Steve decided to take what distraction he could get. “Mind if I ask what happened?”

“Pearl and I— Pearl’s my wife —we were just kids when we had our first. Didn’t know a damn thing about expecting, or babies, or any of it. One step past figuring a stork was coming.” He winked at this, and Steve snorted despite himself. “But she was only eight months and a bit when we’d gone visiting her folks for Christmas. They lived out on a dairy farm, way out in the Virginia sticks—the hell out of the way of anything in the neighborhood of a hospital.”

“Oh, no,” Steve groaned, able to see where this was going.

“ _Oh, no_ is right. Because of course, we dumb kids figured eight months wasn’t nine months, right? Ain’t that the schedule babies come on? We had plenty of time for a trip out. But wouldn’t you know it— turns out, nobody told our little one he supposed to wait until after we got home.”

“Let me guess,” Steve said. “Christmas morning?”

Harlan grinned. “Christmas eve. Just our luck, little pal didn’t have the patience for that trick. And even if there had been a hospital anywhere near, poor gal was so sick on the trip up I think she would have run the car off the road first.”

“What did you do? Call for a doctor?”

The older man laughed. “Whoa there, city boy! You think you can just ring up a doctor and he’ll come ‘round on your schedule? 

The nearest sawbones they got was two towns over, and he made his stop in their neck of the woods once a month, whether folks needed him or not.” 

“Well, shut my mouth. So what happened? Were you on your own?”

“That’s what I thought at first. But turns out we were in luck.”

Steve blinked. “In... luck?”

“Sure as shooting. Pearl’s papa was a twenty-year calving man. Delivered more calves in his day than you’ve eaten hamburgers. Folks for miles called him in when a heifer needed a helping hand.” Harlan chuckled. “So there I was, working myself into a panic, while Pop’s there, cool as a cucumber, telling me not to worry— he reckons he knows what to do. And I look at him, and I’ll never forget what he said. ‘Well, son,’ he said, ‘I know I can catch a calf, and those are a hell of a lot bigger than a baby.’”

Steve laughed, imagining the calving man’s earnest face and Harlan’s gawping one. “And did he? Catch yours?”

“Took the rest of the night and into the morning. But that lucky so and so, he was the first one to hold my son Nathan in his arms after all.” 

“God bless you,” Steve said, shaking his head. Harlan smiled, and puffed a little on his cigarette.

“So, you know. It doesn’t always have to go all right to turn out right in the end.” 

Steve was trying to get a grip on the words when Lottie reappeared, Mary Janes skittering on the tile in the hallway. She was calling for him, breathless. “Mr. Carter? Mr. Carter!”

He shot to his feet. “Any word?”

“Yes,” the girl gasped. “Sir, she’s here.”

He gaped. _“Here?”_

Urgently she nodded. “Yes, sir. They took her straight in, through the ambulance bay.” 

“Jesus, and nobody told me?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to make for the door into the ward. With a few strides, he found his path blocked by the stern nurse matron in her tall white cap. 

“Excuse me,” said the matron sharply. “Where you do think you’re going?”

“My wife, Margaret Carter, was just admitted. I’d like to see her, please.”

She stared him down like he was a wayward child. “Fathers aren’t admitted beyond this point. You’ll have to stay in the waiting room until there’s an update.”

“But nobody’s told me anything—”

“As soon as there’s progress, we’ll be certain to inform you.” For all that she came up to his collarbone, she still managed to look askance down her nose at him. “Now, take a seat, Mr. Carter— and try to pull yourself together.” 

With a sweep of her starched white skirt, she turned on her sensible heel and marched out.


End file.
